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WAXWING 


THE KINGSHIP SERIES 

Illustrated, 12mo, decorated boards, each, 30 cents 


The Kingship of Self-Control. William George Jordan. 

The Majesty of Calmness. William George Jordan. 

Breaking the Record. Ralph Connor. 

Swan Creek Blizzard. Ralph Connor. 

Bunny 3 Friends. Amy Le Feuvre. 

God’s Box. Mabel Nelson Thurston. 

Expectation Corner. E. S. Elliott. 

Beyond the Marshes. Ralph Connor. 

UntcHim. Bishop John H. Vincent. 

Across the Continent of the Years. Newell Dwight Hillis. 

How thechildren Raised the Wind. Edna Lyall. 

How the Inner Light Failed. Newell Dwight Hillis. 

Alone in London. Hesba Stretton. 

Bonnie jfean. Annie S. Swan. 

Nobody Loves Me. Mrs. O. F. Walton. 

Little King Davie. Nellie Hellis. 

Laddie. By the author of “ Miss Toosey’s Mission.” 

J. Cole. Emma Gellibrand. 

Christie’s Old Organ. Mrs. O. F. Walton. 

Whiter Than Snow. Mrs. O. F. Walton. 

Miss Toosey’s Mission. The author of “ Laddie.” 

Jessica’s First Prayers. Hesba Stretton. 

Jessica’s Mother. Hesba Stretton. 

Little Dot. Mrs. O. F. Walton. 

Did the Pardon Come too Late ? Mrs. Ballington Booth. 

Comfort Pease and Her Gold Ring. M. E. Wilkins. 

My Little Boy Blue. Rosa Nouchetta Carey. 

A Wastrel Redeemed. David Lyall. 

A Day’s Time Table. E. S. Elliott, 

Brother Lawrence. The Practice of the Presence of God. 

The Swiss Guide. Rev. C. H. Parkhurst, D.D. 

Where Kitty Found Her Soul. Mrs. J. H. Walworth. 

One of the Sweet Old Chapters. Rose Porter. 

The Baritone’s Parish. Rev. J. M. Ludlow, D.D. 

Child Culture. Hannah Whitall Smith. 

Risen With Christ. Rev. A. J. Gordon, D.D. 

Reliques of the Christ. A Poem. Denis Wortman. 

Eric’s Good News. The author of ** Probable Sons.” 

Ye Nexte Thynge. Eleanor Amerman Sutphen. 

Agatha’s Unknown Way. A Missionary Story. By "Pansy.” 
The Dream of Youth. Hugh Black, M.A. 

The Spirit Guest. The Story of a Dream. Josephine Rand. 

For Christ and the Church. Charles M. Sheldon. 

Lend a Hand. Charles M. Sheldon. 

The Young Man of Yesterday. Judge A. W. Tenny. 

One of the Two. Charles M. Sheldon. 

What the Wind Did ? Amy Le Feuvre. 

From Girlhood to Womanhood. Mary Lowe Dickinson. 


Fleming H. Revell Company, Publishers 


WAXWING 


BY 


CAROLINE ATWATER MASON 


AUTHO* or 

“THE LITTLE GREEN GOD” 



New York Chicago Toronto 

Fleming H. Revell Company 

London and Edinburgh 


Copyright, 1905, by 

FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 



UBWRY of OONfiRESSj 

TWO Copies rieuxmi : 


AUG 22 l«U5 


3 ~&~~ 


Oooynjgni uiiry 



New York : 158 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago : 80 Wabash Avenue 

Toronto: 27 Richmond Street, W. 
London : 21 Paternoster Square 

Edinburgh : 100 Princes Street 


WAXWING 


i 

N OW, Elinor Shepard, you lay your 
hand on your heart and say honor 
bright, wouldn't you rather I'd set 
out your dinner here for you rather than you 
have to go to the church? It ain’t a bit of 
trouble, you know it ain’t.” 

“ Say no more, Emmeline, or I shall be 
cross. I told you last night and I tell you 
again this morning that I think it will be a 
lark to go to the church for dinner. You 
needn’t think I am going to put up with cold 
beans here all alone when there’s hot chicken 
pie going next door.” 

“ And hot coffee and potatoes,” added Mrs. 
Davis, who prided herself reasonably on the 
menu of the prospective meal. 

“ Certainly. Imagine my giving up such 
fare for sheer cowardice! I am not really 


6 WAXWING 

half as bad a coward as you think. I would 
rather face a whole missionary convention than 
miss my portion of that chicken pie.” 

Elinor, from her seat on the kitchen door- 
step, looked across into the oven which Mrs. 
Davis had just opened and from which issued 
a savory odor of delicately browned pastry. 

“ It ain't quite brown enough yet,” mur- 
mured the housewife, closing the oven door 
and looking anxiously up at the clock on its 
shelf. On the white scoured table stood two 
baskets covered with coarse, clean linen. 

“ Say, Elinor, it's nine o'clock already. 
Would you mind just keepin' your eye on the 
oven while I take them other things over to 
the church ? ” she asked. 

“Go right along. I'll watch your pie for 
you,” was the cheerful response. Elinor 
Shepard looked up with her frank smile from 
the camera she was busily putting in order. 
The smile pleasantly relaxed a face whose 
habitual expression was of resolution and in- 
dependence mixed in somewhat strong propor- 


WAXWING 7 

tions. She had clear gray eyes, dark hair, a 
fresh sun-browned skin, and the unmistakable 
stamp of the student in her face. 

Mrs. Davis took a basket in each hand and 
stepped out carefully over Elinor’s slides. 
Watching her as she proceeded down the path 
to the gate between the lilac bushes, Elinor 
fancied that she looked in her stiff frilled 
gingham gown remarkably like a ruffed 
grouse. It was a trick of hers to see in the 
people she met the similitude of birds, just 
now the subject of her ardent interest and 
study. 

Robins were hopping about in the sweet- 
smelling grass and an oriole like a flame flashed 
in and out of the orchard boughs. The church 
stood next to the blossoming apple orchard, 
an old-fashioned, white, clapboarded building 
with tall, uncolored windows and faded green 
blinds. 

In ten minutes Mrs. Davis returned to find 
her guest standing by the kitchen table study- 
ing with concentrated attention and anxiety 


8 WAXWING 

the chicken pie which stood there in its enor- 
mous shining pan. 

“ Oh, thank fortune you have come, Emme- 
line ! ” she cried. “ How could I possibly tell 
whether the thing is done except by a surgical 
operation? I was just going to cut open this 
upper crust and investigate.” 

" Sakes alive, Elinor Shepard ! and you 
wouldn’t have known then and spoiled the 
looks of my pie for nothing! It’s lucky I 
came,” and Mrs. Davis regarded this contri- 
bution to the church dinner with chastened 
pride. “ It looks pretty good,” she added, “ if 
only them bantams have cooked up good and 
tender.” 

“ Oh, my darling bantams ! ” mourned Eli- 
nor, “ offered up as an innocent sacrifice to 
this insatiable convention, butchered to make 
a Roman holiday! Well, are the delegates be- 
ginning to gather? ” 

“ Oh, not many Ve come yet,” was the reply. 
“ They won’t not till the ten thirty gets here 
except what drives over. The Returned Mis- 


WAXWING 


9 

sionary’ s got there. They say she’s splendid,” 
with a shy side glance at Elinor. “ I didn’t get 
a look at her. She’d gone up to the audience 
room to think out her piece where ’twas still. 
She drove over from Smithfield with Horners’ 
folks.” 

“ They have a fine day for the meetings,” 
remarked Elinor, with polite indifference, 
buckling her field glass on its strap and swing- 
ing it at her side. 

“ Yes, the folks over to the church all say 
that we’ll have the biggest turn-out the Con- 
vention’s ever had. Woodb ridge always has 
big meetin’s, I don’t care whether it is the I. 
O.’s of G. T.’s or the A. O. U. W.’s or the W. 
C. T. U.’s or what. It don’t make no differ- 
ence, we always get the crowd and they always 
have lovely meetin’s.” 

Mrs. Davis raised her voice and spoke with 
perceptible purpose to emphasize the impor- 
tance of the day’s event in Woodbridge. She 
was bustling about now in the cool milk room 
beyond the kitchen. 


II 


E LINOR SHEPARD paused in her 
preparation and watched her hostess 
meditatively. Perhaps she had not 
hitherto realized how much this gathering 
meant to her kind old friend. Perhaps she had 
been selfishly oblivious. 

“ Are you sure,” she asked presently, “ that 
you don’t want my room for a delegate to- 
night? I begin to feel guilty for filling up 
your pretty guest chamber at just this time. 
You could have made two of the elect so com- 
fortable if an ungodly tramp cuckoo from the 
hedges and ditches hadn’t got into the nest 
and turned them out. Think of the waffles 
and honey for breakfast they are missing ! ” 

“ Don’t you fret yourself. The delegates 
mostly don’t stay all night, you see. The Re- 
turned Missionary, she’s got to have a place 
provided somewheres near the station, Mis* 


IO 


WAXWING in 

Horner said, but there's places enough. No. 
I'd rather have old friends than just 4 happen 
so's.' Besides, I do my share livin' here next 
the church anyway. There's always a woman 
took with a sick headache or a dizzy spell or 
palpitation of the heart that has to come here 
and get taken care of. I’ve seen to my reme- 
dies. There’s plenty of mustard and pepper- 
mint and flannels handy. I always have 'em 
when conventions are cornin'." 

44 Do the meetings make the women ill ? " 
asked Elinor with lifted eyebrows. 

44 1 think they get tired of the long speeches, 
and it takes a sick headache to get them out 
of most any meetin’ decently. They generally 
kind of brace up by suppertime, and seem real 
lively when they start for home." 

44 Well, I believe I'm ready to start," Elinor 
announced, coming to the milk-room door. 
She had put on a small white linen hat, pinned 
closely down upon her dark hair; the contrast 
seemed to bring out the bright tints of her skin 
and the keen light of her blue-gray eyes. Her 


12 WAXWING 

camera was swung over one shoulder and a 
botanist’s case over the other. The whole ap- 
pearance of the girl was of buoyant spirit and 
abounding self-confidence. 

“ Where are you goin’ this mornin’?” 
asked Mrs. Davis, looking at her over a pan 
of cream with admiring eyes. 

“ Through Chase’s Glen and back by 
Mixer’s and the lower bridge.” 

“ Gracious, what a tramp ! What on earth 
are you goin’ around by Mixer’s for?” 

“ You know that oak wood over by the 
swamp? They say there are scarlet tanagers 
there, redbirds, you know, and I’m bound to 
hear their notes if I can. It is getting very 
hard nowadays to catch them.” 

“ Well, if you don’t beat all ! I should think 
if you didn’t feel like goin’ to meetin’ that 
you’d rather set in the front room and do some 
kind of fancy work. It most seems as if you 
could hear birds enough to answer here in our 
dooryard every momin’. I s’pose those kind 
ain’t in fashion. But what of it anyhow when 


WAXWING 13 

you’ve heard the redbirds? You can’t string 
’em, the birds’ notes, can you, on a wire like 
berries or shells or press ’em in a book and 
trim your curtains with ’em like autumn leaves, 
nor stick ’em up over the pictures like they do 
milkweed and cat tails? You can’t any more 
than hear ’em when all’s said and done, and I 
don’t see the satisfaction.” 

“ I do/’ returned Elinor with her firm smile. 
“ I’d go from here to Mixer’s any morning to 
hear a tanager in a tree top.” 

“ Well, I just wish EE could hitch up and 
take you, but he can’t stop cultivatin’, not 
to-day.” 

“ Of course he can’t and I wouldn’t let him 
for anything if he could. It’s a gorgeous 
morning for getting views. I’m going to do 
some skies on my way. Good-bye.” 

“Don’t you be late now, will you?” Mrs. 
Davis came to the kitchen door and stood 
watching her guest’s departure, with wistful 
perplexity on her kindly face. The June air 
stirred her gray hair and rustled her well- 


WAXWING 


starched gingham skirts. “ And be sure you 
come straight to my table/* 

“Yes, indeed. Do you suppose I would 
fail ? I am furiously hungry already with just 
smelling the goodies. Think what I shall be 
at twelve ! ” 

Left alone, Mrs. Davis reflected, standing, 
in spite of her much serving, for a little space 
in the doorway. 

“ Something kind of queer about Elinor. 
She’d walk clear to Mixer’s woods to hear 
a redbird, but she wouldn’t step over to the 
church to hear the Returned Missionary, and 
they say she’s splendid and come all the way 
from India. Folks is different. Elinor’s awful 
good-hearted, though. But if I had another 
spare bed I’d take the Missionary myself to 
kind of make up. I don’t like havin’ her 
slighted.” 

A few steps down the road Elinor met Mrs. 
Ellery, the minister’s wife, her face turned 
churchward, her arms full of pink peonies. 

“ You are coming back in time for our meet- 


WAXWING 15 

ings, I hope, Miss Shepard,’’ Mrs. Ellery de- 
tained her to say as she was passing on with 
a morning greeting. “ We are to have un- 
usually fine speakers, you know.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” Elinor called back. “ I 
am sure it will be very interesting,” and she 
hastened on, adding mentally, — “ to those who 
are interested. To think,” she sighed, “ that 
even the seclusion of Woodbridge and Emme- 
line’s cottage cannot protect me from these 
tiresome conventions and conventionalities! Is 
there no place then left uninvaded? At least 
the glens and swamps will be left to me. I 
will do my duty and present myself at their 
dinner because I know poor Emmeline would 
be dreadfully grieved if I didn’t. Then I shall 
stay in my room and do my notes and blue 
prints all the afternoon, out of the way of the 
woman with the sick headache who will prob- 
ably be in evidence downstairs. To-morrow 
we shall return to peace and rest and quiet 
breathing.” 


m 


I T was just before noon of th« May day. 
Elinor Shepard stood alone in the small 
church vestibule listening for a moment 
to the shrill treble of women’s voices beyond 
the closed doors rising in the words : 

“ Christ for the world we sing ; 

The world to Christ we bring, 

With loving zeal; 

The poor and them that mourn, 

The faint and overborne, 

Sin-sick and sorrow worn 
Whom Christ doth heal ” 


She pursued her way then down the stairs 
to the vestry of the church, the sense strong 
upon her that she had no part or lot in the 
spirit of a song like this. Exultant over 
a snapshot of a scarlet tanager which she was 
sure would prove successful, she had run into 
16 


WAXWING 17 

the cottage for a moment to leave her camera 
and field glass and botanical trophies, and to 
make herself hastily presentable. And now, to 
please Mrs. Davis, who in her childhood had 
been her nurse, she would tame her high spirits 
and turn her steps of virgin liberty for a few 
moments into the humble and narrow path 
of the village church activities. Naturally, it 
was at some sacrifice of her own taste that she 
mingled with these simple souls and partook 
of their democratic provender, but for once 
in a way she could bring herself to it. But 
the “ sin-sick and sorrow worn ” and all weak- 
hearted beings belonged in a world far from 
her thoughts and foreign to her sympathies. 

Few people in Woodbridge knew Elinor, 
and as she entered the wide, low vestry filled 
with long tables, the women standing about 
waiting to serve the noon meal looked at her 
with friendly curiosity as one of the day’s dele- 
gates. Emmeline was nowhere in sight. 

Elinor approached a group. The women 
wore large white aprons; they were farmers’ 


WAXWING 


1 8 

wives, substantial of figure and careworn of 
face. She was received with smiling affability. 
“Was you wanting something particular ? ” 
the foremost asked her. 

“ I was only looking for Mrs. Davis, or for 
her table, 1 ” explained Elinor. “But I have 
come too early.” 

“ Why, where is Mis’ Davis ? ” a second 
woman murmured. 

“ Oh, I know. She’s in the kitchen,” inter- 
posed a third. “ Mis’ Bennett she most always 
makes the coffee when there’s doin’s, but her 
daughter, her that married down to Smith- 
field, she was taken sick last night and Mis’ 
Bennett she’s had to go down, so Mis’ Davis 
they got her to make the coffee. That’s why 
she ain’t around. But that’s her table, that one 
over there with the bunch of laylocks in the 
middle.” 

“ Thank you,” and Elinor smiled graciously, 
and went on to the table indicated. 

“ She looks smart. I guess she’s a secretary 
or something.” 


WAXWING 19 

The remark was distinctly audible to 
Elinor. 

“ Oh, my land, no, she ain't,” said another 
voice, a quick, piercing, head tone. “ She aint 
even a professor. She’s that ” 

Elinor lost what followed. She reached 
Emmeline’s table as the double doors were 
flung open, and, as if a dam had burst above, 
down the stairs poured a swelling stream of 
women. Most of them were dressed in black 
with a little jet or a few colored flowers in their 
bonnets. Most of them carried small hand- 
bags, and looked before them hungry-eyed, 
but with set purpose to appear decorously in- 
different to the goodly odors of coffee and 
baked meats which met them, and to the pro- 
fusion of cakes, pies, and pickles spread on the 
tables between bouquets of lilac and syringa. 

Elinor from her somewhat remote comer 
watched with a curious sense of dismay the 
tide as it poured in and rose all about her table. 
Soon she saw she must lose her individuality 
and be swamped as merely one atom of the 


20 


WAXWING 


hungry, chattering multitude. A certain un- 
conscious protest against being so merged was 
rising in her. Then suddenly a strong hand 
was laid on each of her shoulders, and a hot 
whisper panted into her ear: 

“ Dear me suz, ain’t I glad you found my 
table all right! I do hope you’ll get well 
waited on. I’ll see that you get a piece of my 
chicken pie, but I can’t leave the kitchen not 
for a blessed minute. Did you ever see such 
a lot of women? Two hundred and thirty, they 
say,” and Mrs. Davis, with crimsoned cheeks 
and reassuring smiles back at her guest, darted 
out to her place at the kitchen stove. 

Elinor turned back. It was high-tide 
already. Every seat opposite her, on each side 
and at all the other tables, far or near, was now 
filled. The newcomers seated themselves with 
the promptness and confidence born of conven- 
tion experience and also of hunger, while at 
the foot of the stairs stood a crest-fallen crowd 
for whom no seats remained. It would be 
impossible for all to partake at once ; doubtless 


WAXWING 21 

she who hesitated was lost, Elinor reflected. 
She felt a faint scorn of the pressure of animal 
instinct to grasp each for herself of the day’s 
rations which seemed as evident among these 
religiously-minded women with their feeble 
show of polite indifference, she fancied, as in 
Emmeline’s poultry yard when the morning 
corn was scattered. 

As she unfolded with unaccustomed fingers 
her napkin of tissue paper, Elinor glanced 
critically along the row of faces opposite. They 
were the faces of common, work-a-day women, 
akin to the farmers’ wives who were cheerily 
pouring coffee from huge white pitchers into 
cups without saucers set at every place. Most 
of them were middle-aged women with tired 
eyes, although here and there was a snowy 
white head and here and there a fresh and rosy 
face. Nowhere did she discover the light of 
intellectuality, the indefinable distinction of 
culture, the charm of social grace or personal 
elegance. 

“ It is another world,” she reflected vaguely 


22 WAXWING 

as she addressed herself to the motley array 
of food before her, “ another world. Such a 
little, little world, and such a tiresome, narrow 
world of commonplace! ” 

And she thanked God that she was not as 
other women are. 


IV 


I SN’T it fine to see Professor Carter here 
to-day? ” 

Elinor glanced up at the speaker 
who sat at her right hand and whom she had 
not thus far noticed. A Greek profile, youth- 
ful in its lines, surprised her. There was a 
shadow under the eyes, but the soft contours 
of lips and cheeks were those of a girl, and the 
thick, bright auburn hair knotted under a neat 
little brown velvet toque had a distinctly girlish 
expression. 

“ Professor Carter,” Elinor repeated, a little 
confused; “ pardon me, what Professor 
Carter? ” 

“ Oh, you don’t know of her then ? ” There 
was a perceptible shading of surprise with an 
almost imperceptible sub-shading of disfavor 
of which Elinor was subtly conscious. “ I sup- 
posed you would some way. She is sitting 
nearly opposite you, three places down; do 
23 


24 WAXWING 

you see? in the gray bonnet and gown. She 
is a very famous professor of English at Mer- 
cer College. She is having leave of absence 
this year to rest.” 

Elinor felt her face grow crimson as she 
looked across the table at the small, gray- 
haired woman in gray, who had been passed 
over entirely hitherto in her general and slight- 
ing glance. 

“ That is Professor Carter! ” she breathed, 
awe and reverence mingling with a sense of 
discomfiture at her own manifestation of igno- 
rance. “ I am so surprised at her being here . 
Of course I know of her through her books, 
her reputation, but I never had the good for- 
tune to see her before. But it is so curious, — 
certainly she was not expected, was she? ” 

“ Perhaps not. I really do not know,” the 
other commented briefly, her attention now 
being drawn by a young girl diagonally oppo- 
site in the other direction who was seeking to 
signal her some message, her blue eyes over- 
flowing with a species of rapturous admiration 


WAXWING 25 

which vaguely annoyed Elinor. She glanced 
up sidewise at her neighbor, at the neat, crested 
brown toque with its band of darker velvet, the 
trim brown jacket, the blouse with threads of 
yellow and vermilion interwoven. She caught 
the graceful poise of the throat, the simple 
elegance of the whole figure and instantly 
christened the unknown delegate “ Cedar 
Waxwing,” after her fashion of calling people 
she knew little after birds she knew well. 

“Lemon pie or tapioca pudding?” The 
watchword of the second course fell soothingly 
on Elinor’s sense, a little disturbed by her re- 
cent unexpected impression. She chose pie, 
realizing how soon she must return to the 
polite circles where pie was outlawed, and then 
sat forgetful of the dainty, foam-capped tri- 
angle before her, gazing at Professor Carter 
across the table. The whole sober-minded row 
before her, indeed the whole scene about her, 
had undergone a mysterious transformation. 
If that little gray-gowned woman could turn 
out one of America’s most noted scholars, and 


26 WAXWING 

her next neighbor could suddenly exhibit grace 
and breeding and the certain indefinable some- 
thing which she had regarded as so hopelessly 
lacking in this company, might it not be pos- 
sible that this world was altogether less narrow 
and commonplace than she had been fancying? 
Perhaps snap judgments, even of enlightened 
college-bred women, were not always abso- 
lutely to be relied upon. What if that woman 
with the painted bag were a literary light, and 
that other with the gold eyeglass and jet collar 
the wife of a philanthropist? She would walk 
carefully after this in her estimates. 

" You know Professor Carter is to speak 
this afternoon ? ” 

It was Waxwing’s voice, clear, quiet, well- 
modulated. 

“ Do you mean here in the church, at the 
missionary meeting?” 

“Oh, yes. Where else? She is devoted, 
you know, to foreign missions, and I imagine 
Woodbridge has not many rival gatherings 
this afternoon, has it? ” and Waxwing laughed 


WAXWING 27 

melodiously. She had turned in speaking and 
Elinor caught more of the shadows under the 
eyes and saw that she was older than she had 
thought, but also sweeter and with something 
lurking in those violet shadows of a mystery 
of pain. Instantly, in her own despite, there 
sprang up in Elinor a pang of sympathetic de- 
votion to this stranger akin to what she had 
read in the china-blue eyes of that girl across 
the table. 

“ Are you a Mercer girl ? ” she asked coldly, 
annoyed at the absurd emotion. 

“ Yes, class of ’95. Haven’t you had enough 
lemon pie? Don’t you want to take a little 
walk ? I feel as if I was being baked between 
two crusts myself. I have been em-pied so 
long.” 

Waxwing rose as she spoke, Elinor also, 
laughing rather delightedly at the small joke 
and strangely elated at the prospect of a walk 
with the trim, auburn-haired stranger, whom 
she straightway followed. 

This following, however, was by no means 


28 WAXWING 

a simple process, for at least every third woman 
as they passed down the room caught Waxwing 
by the hand or by a fold of her neatly plaited 
brown skirt, and held her for an instant while 
Elinor experienced the new sensation of find- 
ing herself altogether ignored and unnoticed 
as she stood in the background, waiting. When 
they reached Professor Carter’s place the little 
procession was again interrupted, for that emi- 
nent woman took Waxwing by both hands and 
exclaimed : 

“ If you are going out for some fresh air, 
do let me go, too, Betty.” She then rose, 
gathered up her small belongings, and slip- 
ping her hand into the other’s arm, walked out 
of the vestry and out of the church, talking in 
a low, intimate voice all the way. Waxwing 
cast one glance of comical apology over her 
shoulder at Elinor, as if to say : 

“ I am awfully sorry, but you see how it is. 
She is that august that I can’t venture to in- 
terrupt her to include you until she gives me 
a chance.” 


WAXWING 29 

Elinor perfectly appreciated the situation 
and regarded herself with all due humility in 
relation to the noted professor; nevertheless it 
was distinctly unexpected and novel to emerge 
from the company which she had entered 
strong in her sense of condescension and su- 
periority, in this new role of a meek, unnoticed 
follower of the great and the preferred. 

On the church steps Waxwing made a firm 
stand and insisted on introductions, not that 
they seemed to serve any special purpose of 
enlightenment. Professor Carter was already 
known to them both, and Elinor privately pre- 
ferred Cedar Waxwing to “ Mrs. Smith,” 
which turned out to be the stranger’s conven- 
tional name. The fact that this should be 
Smith, Elinor felt not at all surprising, but the 
married title gave her a little shock. Miss 
Shepard naturally produced no very marked 
impression. 


T HEY strolled together down the quiet 
village street, which was rather a 
country road, enjoying the sky, the 
young leaves and bursting buds and the fresh 
May air. At the gate between the lilac bushes 
Professor Carter halted, placing one small 
hand on the gate, inhaling the fragrance of 
ihe blossoms over her head and gazing down 
the box-bordered path to the cottage. The 
door stood wide open into the comfortable, 
low-ceiled living room. Emmeline’s big tiger 
cat sat on the threshold, her forepaws curled 
cannily under her, blinking drowsily. 

“ How dear ! ” murmured the professor. 
“ Isn’t the whole picture perfect repose, sim- 
plicity, satisfaction? It is so like an old home 
in Vermont which we left when I was still a 
child. That Boston rocker, Betty, with just 
30 


WAXWING 31 

that dull red moreen cushion down the back. 
Doesn’t it belong? What would I give to go 
in there and sit for a while and dream myself 
back forty years ! ” 

Elinor sprang to open the gate, her color 
vivid, her eyes shining with shy delight. 

“ Please do come in, Professor Carter,” she 
cried. “ This is where I am staying; I am per- 
fectly at home, and Mrs. Davis, who lives here, 
is over at the church. She always expects dele- 
gates who have headaches or any other aches 
to come here and rest.” 

“ Even heartaches, eh?” asked the little 
lady kindly, looking up at Elinor’s face with 
greater interest than she had displayed before. 
“ How exceedingly opportune ! I feel as if I 
were in a sort of dream already, Betty. It is 
all so still, so unspoiled, and to have this room 
waiting for us with open arms ” — and she 
broke off, sighing for satisfaction as she sank 
into Emmeline’s big rocking chair. 

Waxwing drew Elinor out to the doorstep. 

“Let us sit here and let her dream her 


32 WAXWING 

dream,” she said. “Isn’t she the perfect 

thing? ” 

Elinor laughed her own frank laugh, yield- 
ing herself now without constraint to the sense 
of complete satisfaction which this nearness 
to Waxwing strangely inspired. She looked 
more girlish than ever out here on the sunny 
step with the brightness of her hair and the 
delicate, changing color in her round cheeks, 
and yet under the sunlit eyes still lingered those 
shadows. 

“It is so new to hear anyone in Wood- 
bridge talking college language,” Elinor com- 
mented. “ There is a perfect free masonry 
about it, you know. I feel at once that I know 
you perfectly well, although I went to Stafford 
instead of Mercer. My mother is a Mercer 
woman.” 

“I am just as glad as I can be that you are 
a college girl,” was Waxwing’s reply. “ It 
is such a help, especially if you have any idea 
of going abroad. Have you ever thought 
of it?” 


WAXWING 


33 

“ Oh, yes, I hope to indeed with all my 
heart,” returned Elinor, mistaking her mean- 
ing, the fact that a missionary convention was 
on having now wholly passed from her mind. 
“ It is what I am living for almost, but I have 
always been kept back — things have stood in 
the way.” 

“ I know. I understand perfectly. It is 
often so, but I hope in your case the things 
will soon clear away. You seem to me really 
just the kind of girl to go, now that I have had 
a good look into your eyes.” 

Elinor smiled, pleased but puzzled, and a 
little silence fell. 

Waxwing's round chin was propped now in 
her hand and her eyes were fixed musingly on 
the lilac bushes. 

“ This is the twentieth,” she murmured. 

“ Precisely.” 

“ I sail in just one month.” 

“ Oh, do you ? How simply fine ! I wish I 
were going with you. What a ridiculous thing 
to say! Pardon me,” Elinor's reserve asserted 


WAXWING 


34 

itself, her face flushing painfully at her un- 
paralleled presumption. Wax wing gave her 
one look of fairly celestial ardor. 

“ Come,” she cried almost passionately. “ If 
you knew how I need you ! ” 

Then in a flash both hands covered the face, 
and between the fingers Elinor with acute dis- 
may saw tear drops which sparkled in the 
May sun. 

“ Oh, please, please,” she began confusedly. 

“ Don’t say a word. ... I have a right 
to cry, you know. ... I shall be better 
afterwards.” 

The words came brokenly, sobs between. 
Then in a moment the tears were dashed aside, 
the face emerged, the lips still quivering, but 
a brave smile in the eyes. 

The look on Elinor’s face was of unmiti- 
gated perplexity. 

“ Oh, what an egotist I am,” cried Wax- 
wing. “ I took it for granted you knew about 
Jimmy, my little, little son.” 

Elinor laid her hand timidly on Waxwing's 


WAXWING 35 

full of quick sorrow and concern. She did not 
dare to speak. 

“ I am leaving him behind, you know.” 

Waxwing’s voice broke a little on the 
words. 

“ He is six now. He will be sixteen when 
I see him again. It is . . . much . . . 
to lose.” 

“ It is too much,” Elinor broke out hotly. 
The truth had at last dawned upon her. 

Waxwing with her fresh girl face, her bright 
hair, her pretty ways was neither more nor 
less than the returned missionary. Had not 
Emmeline heard she was “ splendid ” ? 

Waxwing rose and stood in the sun, her 
clasped hands with a damp little pocket hand- 
kerchief wrung between them falling before 
her, her chin lifted a trifle. 

“ No, dear,” she said in a high way, though 
very gently, “ it is not too much for Him, for 
His poor lost ones in India. It is the way of 
the cross.” 

Elinor’s eyes fell ' then before the mystery 


36 WAXWING 

and the majesty of pain which dwelt in the 
violet shadows, and from head to foot she 
trembled. For the first time in her life she 
had been brought near to the fellowship of the 
Cross and Passion of the world’s redemption. 

Professor Carter had risen now from her 
resting place and was coming toward them, 
saying as she came: 

“ It must be time for us to go back to the 
church.” Then pausing, “ Ah,” she exclaimed, 
“ whose are these?” and she pointed to the 
camera, the specimen case, and the field glass 
which Elinor had thrown carelessly upon a 
table at noon. 

“ They are mine,” murmured Elinor, “ my 
—toys!” 

The professor’s discriminating gray eyes 
rested deliberately upon her face. 

“ Very nice — toys,” she said with a signifi- 
cant shading in her emphasis. 

“ But perhaps it is time now to grow up,” 
murmured Elinor inaudibly. 


VI 


A T the church door Elinor’s companions 
were snatched from her in a storm of 
affectionate upbraiding for their long 
disappearance. They were then swiftly con- 
veyed from her sight to some inner council of 
the saints soon to reappear behind the row of 
palms, discreetly interspersed with cut flowers 
on the pulpit platform, with the officers of the 
convention. She was left free to go or stay 
as she chose. 

She chose to stay, and take her modest place 
between two unknown delegates, herself 
equally unknown. At the moment there was 
no one in the sun-warmed church who awaited 
with a more fervent interest the address of the 
Returned Missionary. Astonished herself at 
the sudden change in her point of view, Elinor 
asked herself whether it was merely the magic 
of personality at work upon her, or something 
37 


38 WAXWING 

other and more profound. After the address 
began she ceased asking herself anything or 
thinking about herself at all. 

It was only the story, unfamiliar, however, 
to her hitherto unsympathetic mind, of the wife 
and aid of the medical missionary who went 
about with him as he went about doing 
good in one of the dark parts of India. 
At the last the speaker handed down among 
the people a half-dozen photographs of Hindu 
temple girls who had been treated for griev- 
ous diseases in the Christian hospital and 
healed both in body and spirit. “ These are 
my jewels,” said Waxwing. “ To win them 
from lives of unspeakable pollution and utter 
darkness of mind and heart, to win them to 
purity, to goodness, to Christ, — you do not 
wonder that we count all things loss gladly 
for such reward?” 

Two of the photographs strayed into 
Elinor’s hands and she sat long with her eyes 
fixed upon the faces of subtle Oriental beauty, 
brilliant and yet passive, brooding yet yearn- 


WAXWING 39 

in g, rich in womanhood, color, temperament, 
life. Yes, if such defilement as had been 
hinted were the portion of such as these all 
would be well lost to win them. “ How much 
better is a woman,” something reiterated just 
then within her, “How much better is a 
woman” — than even a scarlet tanager! Yes, 
one might go far to hear a song of salvation 
sung by such a creature. Elinor’s thought 
swung far and ever farther as a new percep- 
tion thrilled her of what losing one’s life to 
gain it might mean. 

But now another and colder voice was 
speaking. 

“ I wish to call your attention very briefly 
to a somewhat remarkable poem, familiar 
though it may be to many of you.” 

Professor Carter, being present on the plat- 
form, to the general gratification had con- 
sented to say a few words to the convention 
on Values. Professor Carter was accordingly 
speaking, and again Elinor was listening with 
eager ears : 


4 ° 


WAXWING 

“The royal feast was done; the king 

Sought some new sport to banish care, 
And to his jester cried, * Sir Fool, 

Kneel now, and make for us a prayer l* 

“He bowed his head, and bent his knee 
Upon the monarch’s silken stool; 

His pleading voice arose : ‘ O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool ! ’ 

'“’Tis not by guilt the onward sweep 
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; 

Tis by our follies that so long 

We hold the earth from heaven away. 

“‘Our faults no tenderness should ask, 

The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; 
But for our blunders, — oh, in shame 
Before the eyes of heaven we fall. 

'“Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; 

Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool 
That did his will, but Thou, O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool!’ 

“The room was hushed; in silence rose 
The king, and sought his gardens cool, 

And walked apart, and murmured low, 

‘ Be merciful to me, a fool ! ’ ” 


The professor called the attention of her 


WAXWING 


4i 

hearers in passing to the fact that it was from 
a source which he despised that the king 
learned the trenchant truth which pierced his 
heart, but her use of the poem was designed 
to illustrate her point that the blunders we 
make in our false estimates and artificial 
values are what, more than all our crimes, are 
keeping earth away from heaven. Perhaps 
theoretically all would admit that the most 
precious essence of human possession was the 
soul, but practically in our daily enterprise and 
undertaking it is the soul that claims us latest 
and least. This explained, although it did not 
excuse, the apathy of men and women to For- 
eign Missions. They err in their valuations, 
counting dearer than all else personal develop- 
ment, material gain, useless luxury. 

It was perhaps a rather frosty little speech. 
Certainly it appeared to move no one very 
particularly, being given with the impassive, 
neutral calm of the class room and being de- 
void of all devices of oratory or the accent of 
emotion and sentiment. For Elinor, the clear, 


WAXWING 


42 

impersonal appeal of the intellect to the judg- 
ment reason was supremely convincing. 

“ Thou, O Lord, be merciful to me a fool,” 
echoed ever and again in her heart. What had 
she been doing all her life but estimating all 
things of external impressiveness as beyond 
and above the spiritual essence, she who had 
yet prided herself on her clear balanced per- 
ception and judgment? How differently would 
she have entered upon a convention of the 
wealthy and cultured classes, and for the pro- 
motion of some fashionable philanthropy or 
some scientific theory! How the phrasing of 
the noon hymn : 

“The faint and overborne, 

Sin sick and sorrow worn,” 

had repelled her; how commonplace and in- 
ferior she had felt the whole expression of 
missionary energy to be ! And yet might this 
be, after all, the supreme spiritual energy even 
though embodied in the simple-hearted, the 
humble, the unknown? This question plainly 


WAXWING 43 

would not rest unanswered; Elinor must seek 
an interview with herself presently. 

Her first definite action, however, when the 
meeting closed, was to hurry out after Emme- 
line, whom she had seen among the ranks of 
the unbonneted under the gallery, and to catch 
her on the stairs. 

“ Where are you going now?” she cried 
breathlessly. 

“ Down to serve supper. It’s after four now 
and there's a lot of folks to get off on the five 
o'clock train, and them that drives wants to 
get started in good season. There's a moon — 
that’s one good thing. Say, wa'n’t that Re- 
turned Missionary real interestin'? I’m awful 
glad you came in and heard her. That other 
lady, I thought she was kind of dry, but then 
she's gettin' old, you know.” 

“ I liked them both. And now, Emmeline, 
Professor Carter has left already, but Mrs. 
Smith, you know, has to stay all night, and I 
am going to give her my room. You don't 
mind, do you ? ” 


44 WAXWING 

“ For the land’s sakes ! Why, I don’t want 
you to be turned out, Elinor. She can get 
places enough without that.” 

“ I should think she could. There are fifteen 
women after her at this moment, but I made 
her promise to come to our house. I was sure 
you would be willing.” 

“Why, of course, only what’ll you do?” 

“ The parlor sofa is all I want. I don’t care 
about sleeping any way. I have a lot to do to- 
night.” 

“ A lot to do ! ” repeated Mrs. Davis, as she 
went down to her hospitable labors ; “ I sup- 
pose she’s goin’ to set up nights now, listenin’ 
to the birds. I should most think days would 
be long enough.” 


U OF C, 


VII 


M AY again, May of another year. The 
lilacs at the cottage gate had blos- 
somed again, and again robins and 
orioles were darting in and out of the orchard 
trees. On the doorstep, as she had done a year 
ago, Elinor Shepard sat and talked with her 
old friend Emmeline. Around her was strewn 
a litter of photographs, mounts, paste and 
pencils. 

“ There,” she exclaimed, handing up a newly 
mounted print to Mrs. Davis ; " isn’t he a love? 
Won’t that please Waxwing? ” 

“ Say, if he ain’t the sweetest young one I 
ever laid eyes on; and I declare if every last 
picture you show of him don’t beat all the rest. 
How many did you take ? ” 

“ There are ten different ones that I think 
are worth finishing up. We had such a good 
time getting them. Jimmy was so bright and 
45 


46 WAXWING 

so loving about it, Emmeline; just as eager to 
have them please his darling mother as if he 
had been grown up ? ” 

“Then he don’t seem to forget her?” 

“ No, indeed. He will never do that. And 
I have promised him when I get to India to 
take a quantity of views of his father and 
mother in all their every-day doings and send 
them back to him.” 

“ My, ain’t that fine ! That kodak of yours 
will be the biggest blessin’ ever happened to 
them poor things. I never thought before as 
I know of, of a consecrated camera, but that’s 
what yours is nowadays.” 

Elinor’s answer was a quick smile up in the 
other’s face, a smile as bright as ever, but with 
a tenderness and a shyness unlike her earlier 
keen and confident glance. 

“Won’t it be glorious sport, shooting 
those new tropical birds ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ Send me some of your snapshots once in 
a while, won’t you? I suppose they’ll have 
awful outlandish birds and flowers and houses 


&107 


WAXWING 


47 

out there, don’t you ? Seems some like Robin- 
son Crusoe. My goodness, Elinor Shepard! 
I can’t no more realize that three months from 
now you’ll be over in India than nothin’ in 
the world.” 

“ Isn’t it a good thing that I happen to be 
one of the spareable people, Emmeline ? There 
is hardly one of the girls I know who could go 
so well as I. You know I always was the odd 
one at home, and since I left college I never 
seem to have fitted in anywhere, exactly.” 

“ Mebbe that’s what kind of drove you to 
birds and all them things.” 

Elinor laughed. 

“As a serious occupation birds do seem a 
little faddish now. It was good healthy fun, 
but it is a little difficult in looking back to see 
precisely what gain there was in it to anyone 
but myself. I am not quite enough of a scien- 
tist to make my observations indispensable to 
the world at large, you know. I remember 
your suggesting some other kind of fancy work 
when I was here a year ago, Emmeline, and 


48 WAXWING 

how cross the notion made me. I considered 
my nature study extremely important and 
necessary then — vastly above the work of a 
missionary! Oh, what an idiotic blunder! 

“‘Thou, O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool!’” 

The last words were murmured under 
Elinor’s breath. 

“ I never could just see through it what 
made you so different, though, after that mis- 
sionary meetin’. Why, you ain’t the same pe > 
son, Elinor, that you was then. A redbird ain’t 
no more to you now than ” 

“ Than a human soul. Not a bit. Do you 
really want to know what made the difference ? 
—God : 9 


























































































































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